


Written in Stone

by tiny_gangster



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Minor Character death: Isabella is dead., No depictions of violence or graphic smut in first chapter, rating for later instalments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_gangster/pseuds/tiny_gangster
Summary: Isabella had been buried on the top of the hill in a modest plot with an angel on her gravestone. She would have liked the view, Ed thought, clutching Oswald’s hand as they lowered the casket. Inch by inch. Until he could no longer see her.[ A fic that fills in the time between Isabella's death and Edward's discovery of Oswald's treachery that progresses in a series of episodes. May become more coherent in later chapters. With the added dimension of a relationship developing between Oswald and Ed. ]





	Written in Stone

Isabella had been buried on the top of the hill in a modest plot with an angel on her gravestone. She would have liked the view, Ed thought, clutching Oswald’s hand as they lowered the casket. Inch by inch. Until he could no longer see her. He didn’t speak, nor did anyone else. The crowd was thin, full of colleagues, and friends that were more like acquaintances. No family. It was as if she’d appeared from thin air. Edward turned his head and counted six, six others here to say goodbye to her. And of them, he was the only one with tears thick in his eyes as he threw a rose into the dark hole that had swallowed her up. Her body just below the casket lid, decaying already. Edward knew what it looked like, had seen bodies in various states of deterioration.

 

She would be blue, and green, and stiff as a board. Shrunken. Sunken. He gasped and turned his head into Oswald’s shoulder. Felt the older man’s fingers wind slowly into the hair at the back of his head. He whispered something, Edward didn’t make out what. His mind’s eye was fixed on her. How mottled, how sad. She died in her sleep. But in his mind, she screamed.

 

__

 

They held the wake at the manor. Edward and Oswald sitting apart on the antique lounge, all in black. With tea sandwiches Edward himself had made, and black balloons littered across the room. Her picture blown up, smiling unknowingly from a plinth across the room, propped up on the piano. No one came. Though Edward wrung his hands, insistent that they wait. Perhaps they were lost, or else, had heard the wrong time. Oswald watched his friend sink lower and lower into the couch material as the hours passed without a caller.

 

Oswald checked his pocket watch, eyes askance to study his beloved in profile. He had scarcely moved an inch, save for the downward arch of his posture. He chewed his index fingernail, eyes flickering back toward the picture of _her_. It was _her_ fault, to break his heart like this. If she had kept her distance – had retreated when he urged her to, this would never have happened. But she pressed him. Despite his giving her all due warning, and now look at the mess she had left behind. Careless, so careless with his heart.

 

“Edward,” he said, eventually. Voice impossibly soft. “I don’t think anyone’s coming.”

 

That was the last straw it seemed. His chief of staff raised both trembling hands, sticking them up beneath his glasses. Breath rushing out of him as his throat closed, ached around the denial he’d meant to profess. Someone had to know she was gone, and care.

 

His tears were hot, and they ran thick down his face, hidden behind the curtain his fingers provided. Oswald crooned like a mother over a child, reaching out for him. The space between them evaporated. He hushed him, drawing his hands away. And Edward raised his head to meet his gaze.

 

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” He rasped, his voice guttural, drawn from the back of his throat. “I could never have endured it, if you had not been by my side.” Edward believed it, sincerely. If not for Oswald, he would have chased her into the earth. Demanded to be buried by her side. Or else send an empty coffin to the grave and keep her. “Thank you.”

 

Oswald smiled kindly, head shaking. “Oh, Ed.” He sighed, calloused thumb dancing across his cheek to catch one of his tears before it could leave a damp track across the sharp cut bone. “You are most welcome.”

 

\--

Weeks had passed without word, so that Edward could scarcely mark time anymore without feeling the overwhelming sting of guilt.

 

He should be doing more, and yet he couldn’t. He felt he could scarcely lift his head, could barely breathe. Each heave left an ache in his chest. He pulled his bedroom curtains, sinking into the soft mattress. Tossing, turning, hiding amongst the covers. Edward had been so close this time. The perfect life he had stolen from himself with a hand around Kristen’s throat, lost to him once more. Oswald had given him time, compassionate leave, he called it.

 

It was Oswald that brought him tea each morning, faintly brisk, though that was simply his way. He pried back the covers and ran fingers through Edward’s hair and begged, in not so gentle terms, that he get up. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. How could he? Someone had carved out everything that was Edward Nygma and left an empty chasm behind.  

 

He only answered in soft apologies, _I know. I’m sorry. Soon. I will. Okay._

 

Clipped, painful in their brevity.

 

Oswald clicked his tongue, brushed the backs of his knuckles against Edward’s cheek and breathed, ‘alright.’

 

He left him there to wallow, pitifully. Edward knew. Knew what he must think, heard the mantra over and over in his mind. Soon he would stop coming, and then what would Edward do? Without Oswald, he had nothing.

 

But even for him, he couldn’t rise. He’d sooner lay there and waste than rise.

 

\--

 

It was three AM. His clock told him so.  Edward couldn’t sleep, perhaps because he spent all day in a stasis that felt so like sleep, in just this spot, in his bed. He felt the walls were closing in, crawling, infested, with whatever it was that kept him trapped here. Whatever sickness had seeped into him, and laid waste to his sensibilities. And the need to escape it, overpowered the desire never to move again.

 

He fought free of his sheets, tip-toeing in the darkness toward the door. The hall lights were on, though dim. And without thought Edward stepped out, feet soundless on the plush Turkish rug below him. He crossed to Oswald’s bedroom door, hesitant, fist raised, and then he aborted the movement, simply opened the door instead.

 

Moonlight bathed his friend where it streamed through his open window. Ed paused in the doorway for a time, and imagined that he saw a halo glowing about his dark-haired head where it’s gentle glow caught loose strands.

 

“Edward?” Oswald’s voice. Sleep thick and husky. His form shifting.

 

Edward’s mouth went dry. “Yes.” He replied, simply. Stupidly. Who else would it be?

 

Neither spoke. And then Oswald raised his arms, and the taller, after a moment’s hesitation, came into them.

 

Oswald’s chest swelled with a sick satisfaction. As Edward tucked himself against his shoulder, lithe body loose in his grip, the older’s arms encircled him.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, I just…” Edward was never given the chance to finish before Oswald gentled him.

 

“Hush now, it’s late.” Oswald murmured, so near to his ear that Ed shuddered at the sensation of his warm breath.  It was selfish, it was horrifically selfish, and Oswald knew it, somewhere, deep down. He knew what he was doing. The dangerous game he played. But Edward was warm and malleable in his arms. Clinging to him for dear life. And _oh_ , it was _divine_.

 

He had come home, finally. _Finally_.

 

\---

It became a habit, Edward came to Oswald’s bed of a night, though he didn’t always allow Oswald to touch him. They had a clearly defined sphere, on either side of the bed. Some nights, Edward would chase Oswald to his, burrow into his chest, breathe his scent like a man drowned and coming up for air. Other nights, he was rigid as a board, lying at the very edge of his own side. Back to Oswald.

 

Those nights, neither of them slept well. Oswald pretended not to hear his broken gasps, the intermittent, rapid fire words muffled against the pillow case. And Edward pretended to have no knowledge of it when he woke. In either case, Oswald woke with Edward’s scent on his pillows, the remnant warmth of his body on the bed.

 

It was a start. Oswald could be patient.

 

\---

 

The first time Edward let Oswald touch him, really touch him, it was five in the morning. And the sun was rising. Painting the sky beyond the window pink and orange. The view unobstructed here as it never was in Gotham.

 

He had woken gently, head turned toward his friend, tousled hair in messy curls across the pillow. A smile on his lips. And Oswald had been overcome with the desire to kiss him. He smiled in return. Simply watching the younger blink, the sleep from his eyes, stretch his narrow frame. Hips shifting, arms extended, lips apart. Divine.

 

“Good morning.” Edward murmured blearily. And Oswald nodded. Shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

 

“Yes, yes it is a good morning, isn’t it.” His tone was faintly breathy already, from just looking at him. He reached out to touch Edward’s cheek as he so often liked to.  “You are… simply exquisite, my dear friend.”

 

Edward froze, blinking, dark eyes unfocused – unclear as always – as they fixed on him. Faintly more awake. “I think that’s a mild exaggeration.” He replied. Oswald felt strangled. Blanching, searching for a way to recover.

 

“I don’t think so.” He decided to hold firm. Surprised by the color that seeped into Edward’s cheeks, painting his skin red where it stretched over his sharp cheekbones. Oswald’s thumb travelled to the dint of a cleft in his chin. Shifting closer, closer.

 

Edward’s breath hitched.

 

Oswald didn’t dare come nearer.

 

And then Edward did. Leaning in, wracked with uncertainty.

 

“A gift beyond measure, a matter of course. I’m yielded with pleasure- then taken by force.” Edward’s lips were whisper soft against Oswald’s jaw.

 

“Is this a riddle?” Oswald, half choking on his heart where it now beat in his throat, was never given the opportunity to answer.

 

Edward kissed him.

 

\---

 

Lightning lit the drawing room, followed in short order by a clap of thunder. _It was because light travelled faster than sound_. Edward told him that, absently, his nose buried in a book lit by a gas lamp at his side. Turning pages with almost irritating speed. Occasionally Oswald thought bitterly that Edward couldn’t really be reading that quickly. Just turning pages to seem impressive. But he had been proven wrong several times when minutes after handing Edward documents in the mayoral office he’d return them fully annotated. It both endeared Edward to him all the more, and frustrated Oswald.

 

He longed to see the inner workings of Edward’s unknowable mind. Watch it tick. Search for any sign of that misery that wrenched him from Oswald's grip, trapped him in his bed. But, a lobotomy would be counterproductive. And it was the only way he would ever glimpse it. He would lose that which was most precious. Instead, he sat across from the younger man, his elbow propped on the side of the chaise-lounge so that he might cradle his head in the palm of his hand. It was boring. There was no power – a consequence of the storm – and Ed was engrossed in his book. He had tried to catch his attention thrice with no success. Oswald huffed in frustration, but Edward didn’t even glance in his direction. So clever, and yet so stupid. Clueless, oblivious boy. How many times did Oswald have to clear his throat before he’d look up? He was both infatuated and irritated by how determined Edward was to keep reading.

 

Oswald would just have to test his resolve, then. He sighed, drawing to his feet. He hobbled the short distance that lay between the lounges, coming to sit down beside Edward. “That book must be a real page turner.” He reached out to snatch it obnoxiously, bending it so he could see the cover. “Field guide to tropical birds of South America. Riveting.”

 

Edward smiled thinly, reaching for the book, but Oswald extended his arm, kept it from him. “Very funny, Oswald.” Ed made another almighty swipe but Oswald wouldn’t let him seize it. “Give it back, please.”

 

“What do I receive in return?” Oswald asked seriously, considering Edward with an up and down glance that made the younger man flush.

 

“My eternal gratitude.” Edward replied primly.

 

“Mm, tempting, but no cigar, I’m afraid. I’m going to need something a little more… tangible, than gratitude.”  Oswald had an Insatiable appetite. Always hungry for something. Power, possessions, and now, Edward. He let his empty hand wander onto his thigh. Another bolt of lightning. A clap of thunder.

 

“Oswald…” Ed trailed off. He sounded vaguely impatient himself, but Oswald would fix that. Bring his tone to that pretty, trembling register.

 

“Yes, Edward?” Oswald asked innocently, a wide smile curling his lips. Waiting with bated breath. Edward was considering him for a moment, his book now forgotten. Uncertainty written into the part of his pink lips.

 

Oswald got to his feet, let his encyclopedia fall to the floor, hand outstretched. Edward was reluctant, at first. But soon he took it. Letting Oswald draw him to his feet.

 

“Don’t look so frightened. I’ve only ever taken the very best care of you, haven’t I?” Oswald craved the verbal confirmation. His grip on Edward’s hand increasing slightly as he waited.

 

“Yes, Oswald. Of course.” To Edward’s credit, it was a genuine response. And it made Oswald smile from ear to ear.

 

“Then there’s no need to give me that look. Come.” Oswald released the other man’s hand, turning on his heel, snatching up his abandoned cane so he could move with an ounce more grace toward the staircase. He checked once over his shoulder to see that Ed was following. He was. Oswald repressed his grin to retain some dignity. He was so obedient. For the rest of the world, he was a wild, unpredictable, fiercely clever terror. But for Oswald, he was compliant. And would be handsomely rewarded for as much.

 

Oswald didn’t look back again. He simply led the way to the bedroom. Always Oswald’s bedroom. Never Edward’s. Ed was a creature of habit, and the thought of making love in his bed seemed to upset him. Perhaps he didn’t want blood and spill on his sheets. But Oswald wouldn’t make him sleep in that, regardless of which bed they were in. He always had them shamelessly changed before dragging Edward under the covers to sleep curled against his chest. Nevertheless, it was easier to accommodate Ed’s quirks than to deny them.

 

When he heard the door click shut, he turned his head to look at Edward. He simply stood there. As he did always. He tended to miss some more obvious cues.

 

 “Come here.” A command. One that Ed followed without hesitation. Warm smile returning.

 

“Undress.” Another command. Oswald could never decide how he preferred Ed. He enjoyed being at liberty to tear his clothes from his body, but he rather enjoyed the man’s own clinical gaze. The way he slowly revealed his skin one layer at a time between methodical folding. There was only a twitch of resistance before Ed was doing as he was told. Shedding his clothing in efficient bursts. Until he was naked. Oswald hadn’t removed a stitch of his own yet.

 

“Good… very good, Ed.” Oswald murmured, using his cane to tap his thigh and draw him nearer. Reaching out to brush the outline of a rib with the tips of his leather encased fingers. Sighing softly. “Stunning, truly. Sweet Adonis.” He complimented. Removing his gloves, which he let fall to the floor. In part because he knew it would bother Edward. And it did. But he couldn’t be cruel. He let Ed pick them up. And then he forced him to stand straight again so he could admire him to his heart’s content.

 

“This is far more entertaining, don’t you think? Perhaps I should have you read with your clothes off. Give us both something to look at.” He teased. That made Edward blush. He was a proud man, all too aware of how clever he was. And yet, he needed someone else to validate it. As if it wasn’t enough to know. The one area he lacked, was this. He was modest about his appearance.

 

“What about you?” Edward asked. Surprising Oswald.

 

“Eager, aren’t you?” Oswald smiled, eyes fixed intently on the younger man. “Not yet.” He coaxed him nearer with a raised hand, and a gentle quirk of his finger. Edward did as he was told. Moving until he was standing as close to Oswald as he could without his knees touching the mattress.

 

Oswald had no interest in dressing down any further. Instead he reached out to study Edward, outline his body with the tips of his fingers. He had to know him more intimately than any other ever had. Determined to erase that woman’s finger prints. She was in the ground and even now Oswald’s mind couldn’t forget that she had been here first. He pushed the thought away, head tilted up to look at Ed.

 

He never could read his gaze. Oswald wouldn’t pretend to know what Edward thought about. The frenetic pace of his mind was all too much for him to follow, no matter how desperately he wished to. He saw traces of it written in his notes, in the twitching of his fingers, the tension of his frame. But these were mere glimpses – superficial at best. To garner a true understanding of Edward Nygma, he would study a lifetime. If he only had the patience for it. The craving to know now was so great he curled his hand around Edward’s hip with bruising intensity. He longed for the instant gratification of knowing.

 

But he would settle for this. Hearing Ed gasp under his touch. He stood, gaze intent, fixed unblinkingly on the younger as he gestured toward the bed. It said ‘now.’ Implicitly. Oswald could disguise his words, make them winged and lovely so that they would crawl and remain beneath Edward’s skin, no matter how harsh. But his gestures would always be abrupt. And the younger man knew better than to keep him waiting. He laid down, head resting on the silken pillow case.

 

Oswald merely observed him for a time, the way that a wolf watches a hair. Desperate to descend, and sink in it’s teeth. He reached out to gently remove Edward’s glasses, depriving him of sight. So that he could make out the shape of his lover and little else.  It was enough. He spread his legs with the obedience that came from experience.

 

Edward closed his eyes and – “Oh.” A sharp intake of breath. Body taught.

 

“There there, beloved. That’s not so bad, is it?”

 

\--  
  
The storm that engulfed Gotham raged on, even as the night wore. Edward watched Oswald sleep, occasionally, the lightning would strike near enough to light their bedroom and he would see, for just a moment, his lover defined. Cast in shadows only by the canopy above their bed. He reached out tentatively, brushing across Oswald’s cheek, his jaw. A sigh on his lips.

 

He was hesitant to call it love. Love was what he felt for Kristen, for Isabella. Isabella, a fresh wound still. He loved her, not in past but in present tense. He loved and loved and loved her.

 

But he could love Oswald, he believed he already did. He could fall in love with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing around with these two for a while but never published anything. This idea came to me and I already had a part of it written down, so I decided to finally sit down and write it out. I have a few more ideas, but we'll see if it ever progresses beyond the first chapter. Thanks for reading! Any questions, feel free to direct them to my tumblr:  
> embastiller.tumblr.com
> 
> Fic title inspired by: 'Written In Stone' by Ólafur Arnalds & Alice Sara Ott.


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